Every day is a precious flower

unfolding like petals in the wind

or passing clouds that do not stay.

How many more days will I have?

Now that I worry each day may be my last,

reminds me of my time at the Yalu River

when hordes of Chinese overran our line.

I was sure that day would be my last.

Their blaring bugles pierced my soul

and I heard Heaven’s Gates open.

In a frantic retreat, guys in my squad screamed,

“You can kiss your ass goodbye.”

I ran as if my ass was on fire, sidestepping

grenades that were tossed by Chinese soldiers

who had infiltrated retreating Korean refugees

hauling possessions on ox carts.

The Talmud reminds us; those who are remembered

are never truly dead, so I think I’ll keep writing lots

of poems and spend my free time getting them published

so I will never be forgotten.

It takes the sting of sadness out of having to leave this world.

Milton P. Ehrlich 199 Christie St. Leonia,